Page 14

Chapter Thirteen

Byron

“ B yron, you need to be a man,” Pops says as he lights up a smoke and hands me one. I grab it because, for the first time, he wants me around. He wants to bring me into his world, and I need to make him proud. “And as a man, you need to fuck some good pussy.” Pulling at the cigarette, he stares at me, using his mouth to motion to the strip joint behind us.

“I’m not old enough to be inside yet, or drink,” I mutter as I bring the cigarette to my lips, lighting it and taking a pull. The minty smoke makes me want to cough, burning my throat on the way down, but I gather my balls and hold it in. Making Daddy proud. But my stomach drops as I look at him, slowly watching the disdain in his eyes from the shame his son brings him. It’s so loud, so suffocating, that it makes me uncomfortable and forces me to look down at the cigarette dangling between my fingers.

His large, calloused hands tousle my short curls. “Cut this hair off. Men don’t wear long hair, son. That’s for bitches,” he says, giving a strong tug at my hair before he lets go, the force making my scalp sting. We smoke in silence. Well, mostly me. He’s busy talking to the bouncer and the woman who would show me how to be a man. Looking up at the clear night sky, the stars twinkle before me, flickering like they’re laughing at me, and all I can think about is what I’m about to do.

What if it doesn’t work? What if I can’t get hard again?

I just wished he knew that I had tried... I tried with Sandra, and it almost worked... almost. But I don’t know what holds me back, what kills the moment.

“Pa,” I mutter, trying to keep my voice firm as I turn to watch my dad, his eyebrows pinching together as he finishes his cigarette, his muscles on display thanks to the black beater he’s wearing. Looking like he came straight from work, so mom doesn’t notice, but I know. And the shame burns greater, the guilt all consuming, sinking into my stomach like a stone, heavy and inescapable. I look down. We wear the same jeans with the same stains, a black beater, and Timbs. We dress alike... share the same DNA... but we’re so different, worlds apart in ways that can never be bridged.

Dad chuckles into the phone. “Trátalo bien. Treat him well” he jokes as he ends the call, slapping the back of my shoulder hard enough to jolt me forward, a forced show of camaraderie that makes my skin crawl. I force out a smile as I follow my dad into the Red Den, my stomach twisting with every step.

The bright red lights from the door shine off us, casting everything in a hellish glow, and I feel like I’m being dragged into something I can’t crawl out of. The smoke from the hookahs and fog machine pours from the door as Dito—a mammoth of a bodyguard—stands at the entrance, his gaze heavy and unreadable, like he’s seen this happen a thousand times before. My father slides him a bill, and he opens the door for us, the scent of sweat, smoke, and sex thick in the air, clinging to my skin before I even step inside.

My dad chuckles deeply as he clasps my shoulder before whispering in my ear, his breath thick with tobacco, “Show her that you’re your father’s son.” And his voice hits like a freight train, the weight of expectation slamming into me, suffocating.

His son. His prodigy.

Nothing greater for a man than his firstborn to be a son... a mini him.

But my daddy couldn’t have a son who likes men.

I was a disgrace in his eyes. I don’t even think I’m gay. I’m just confused. But I guess I need to figure that out soon because Dad expects me to perform. A woman comes from behind the club dressed in a skin tight black dress and fishnets, her red curls bouncing with every step. And my heart sinks, the air around me turning thick, suffocating as I realize that it’s my best friend’s mother, Yolanda, walking toward me with a smile tugging on her red lips, eyes knowing, unreadable, like she understands exactly what this is.

“About time,” she says as she walks up towards me, voice smooth, too casual, like this is just another night. My dad slaps her ass, and she winks at him as she wraps her arms around me, her perfume too strong, too sweet, making my stomach twist. My mouth begins to open to speak, words forming but failing before they leave my tongue.

I couldn’t do this.

Not with her, of all people.

But from the corner of my eye, I see the smile on my Pop’s face, his pride settling into the lines of his face like cement—thick and permanent—and I swallow my shame. Cupping her ass and pulling her to me, my hands tremble despite my best efforts to keep steady. Her soft lips crash against mine, and suddenly, all I see is her son.

My dick comes alive at the memory of that night, the softness of his lips as they slowly pressed into mine, warmth and heat, something forbidden and unspoken.

“No one has to know,” he whispers into my lips as my hands ball into fists at my side, the ghost of his breath still lingering, still haunting me. Closing my eyes, I let her tongue slide into my mouth, her soft hands moving inside my shirt, the guilt pressing harder, sinking its claws into me, dragging me deeper.

Harder...harder... and I push her off.

“I’m sorry, I can—“ My words are cut off by a strong blow. I don’t register who hit me until I’m on the ground, mouth full of blood and the taste of her tongue. My father’s hands bury themselves in my curls as he pulls me up, his fingers twisting too tight, yanking my head back so I have no choice but to look at him. “Open up, Yolanda. Let him taste a fucking cunt.”

Tears sting my eyes, blurring my vision as I watch her lay on the leather booth and spread open, legs parting like this is nothing, like I’m nothing.

“Da—“ I choke out, slapping his hand away, the sting lingering on my palm. Does he know that she is the mother of my friend?

“Grow the fuck up, Byron. BE A MAN,” he says, his voice sharp, venomous, as he presses me into her cunt, but I couldn’t.

I can’t.

I have a girlfriend... that I hide from everyone.

My sister.

And Yolanda’s son.

Armando.

I try to get out of his grip, but my dad is like a madman, his fingers digging into my scalp like he’s trying to rip me from myself. I look around the club, but it seems like everyone is too blasted to care, too busy inside someone to see.

“LOOK, THIS IS HOW YOU DO IT.” My dad’s voice booms over the music as he tosses me to the side, my body hitting the seat hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. “Sit.”

And then he walks over to Yolanda, his belt undone, the leather sliding through the loops like a slow, deliberate threat, and the bile rises in my throat as I think of him at home.

Does Mom know?

Does Gabriela ?

He isn’t like this with her—will he ever treat her that way?

I couldn’t force myself to look at my father as he fucked another woman, and I couldn’t contain the bile clawing up my throat. Pushing myself off the seat, I run.

Run as fast as I can, stumbling into the bathroom, shoving open the green graffiti-covered stall, and emptying the contents of my stomach into it.

Suddenly, I feel a sharp pat on the back.

“Why are you puking?”

Ren’s voice is stern as I open my eyes, but I guess he’s behind me because all I see is the digested food he fed me earlier, bile and acid mixing into something foul on the floor. The smell of bleach and herbs fills the air, sharp and suffocating, burning the inside of my nose as I breathe in.

Was it real? Or am I losing my mind along with my body and my morals... my dignity?

“Don’t tell me you’re pregnant,” he teases from behind me .

I shrug him off and fall on my back, my limbs heavy, my breath shallow. The room looks back to normal, all clean and pristine. Except for the pile of puke beside me, and the red that still stains my hand, drying in the creases of my fingers and under my nails, refusing to be forgotten. Ren stands above me, one foot on each side of my face, his weight pressing down, making his presence impossible to ignore. “It’s getting dark out, and it’s almost time for dinner.”

I scoff.

Does he think I care?

“Go eat,” is all I say, causing Ren to laugh while pushing his onyx strands behind his ear, his movements slow, deliberate, knowing. His hair is longer... and he’s much leaner, but still so effortlessly handsome and put together, like he was sculpted for this moment, for this world.

He’s all dressed up now wearing a black turtleneck, black pants that fit him like a glove, and some black loafers that are now pressed into my throat, firm and unwavering .

Still expensive... still charming... still lethal and depraved.

“ You will join me. I have a surprise for you.”

“I don—“ I try to choke out as his foot presses deeper into my throat, cutting off my words, cutting off my air.

“It was not a choice,” he presses deeper, his gaze sharp and unwavering. “Not a request.”

Maybe I should let it all end here. If I die, maybe, just maybe, he will be too disappointed to go after Gabby. If her big brother was so breakable, what would be the fun in tearing her down? Then his phone rings, the sound slicing through the air like a blade, and he releases his hold on my throat as he steps back, answering the call with a menacing smile on his face.

Pressing a finger to his lips, “behave,” he says as he slides to answer the call, his voice is light and amused, just another game to him.

And the sound of my sister’s voice freezes me.

“Kevin, stop,” she muses, breathless.

“Fu—“ she moans. “Kevin.” She continues to call out to him as he fucks her into the mouth of a wolf.